Don't Try to Fix me, I'm Not Broken
by cali-luv
Summary: This takes place on the night where Dawn get's her 'first kiss.' I mixed things up a bit, however. Spike decides it's finally time to stop watching Dawn destroy herself, and finally step in to help. It's dark, and will start out PG13 but will probably ge
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and the folks at Mutant Enemy (grrr! Arrgg!!) own everything. I just own my original plot line :)

Read and review! Reviews give me fuel to keep writing!

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They had left her there, all by herself. Swept in, killed the bad guy, and conveniently forgotten about her again. Had Buffy really forgotten what it was like to be young, and easily manipulated? Dawn wiped her eyes with the sleeve of the too-large Sunnydale letter jacket. God, she hated to be so emotional all the time. She wished that she could prove to everyone how mature she was; that she was 16, the same age as Buffy was when she became a slayer. It was a fact that was known, but not recognized. Every time she tried to prove how grown up she was, another right of passage or awkward teenage moment would get in her way. A light breeze moved gently across the playground and picked up tendrils of her hair.

Playground school bell rings again  
Rain clouds come to play again

Dawn lifted her head slowly when the scent of cigarette smoke and leather passed under her nostrils. "Spike?" she said, her voice a little shaky. Dawn cursed herself under her breath. She cleared her throat and hastily wiped her cheeks with the sleeve again.

Has no one told you she's not breathing?  
Hello, I'm your mind giving you  
Someone to talk to  
Hello

Spike watched Dawn from behind a cluster of trees nearby. He watched as the wind danced with her soft curls, the curls she had created to make herself appear adult. He watched as her body shook with labored breathing and sobs. The skin-tight tank top she wore under the jacket clung to every soft curve that she had developed over the year that he had been too busy with Buffy to notice. "Since when did the Nibblet have curves?" he said to himself, stiffening. He didn't like this. He didn't like the idea of newly pubescent boys, vampire or not, lusting over her.

He lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag still watching the lithe figure sitting on the swing. Silver tears caught the moonlight as they fell from her cheeks and made little spots in the sand box. Spike took another deep drag from his cigarette. He watched her from a distance as her life was falling apart. That's how they functioned now, everything from a distance. Now that Buffy was back, things were different. Summers the younger had been pushed aside and expected to grow up all on her own, but at the same time was treated like a child and never given the chance to prove herself. He himself had been blind to the slow death of her spirit. Tonight was just another night among hundreds where he would observe Dawn. He knew how much she silently resented him and his abandonment of her life. Spike knew that she thought he didn't give a damn anymore, and the only reason he cared for her in the first place was because of his promise to her sister.

Spike caught himself wondering what Dawn's opinion of him would change to if she ever found out about the nights that he watched her. Took care of her from a distance, and without her knowledge. All of the evenings that he had followed her and her sleazy friends to the bronze, and watched them coax her into drinking alcohol and smoking cigarettes. He had seen all her barriers of self-restraint fall down, and watched her build up personal walls that no one could break through. She had been lost for quite some time now, unbeknownst to the Scooby clan. Sometimes, Spike would simply stand outside her window at night. On nights that he felt particularly detached, he would climb up the terrace outside her bedroom and sit and watch her sleep. To feel her gentle heartbeat and low breathing that proved to him she was alive. Her room was different now. All her posters had been torn down, and stuffed animals had been stored away. Her room was plain, as if no one lived there. The only sign of inhabitance was her many poetry journals scattered on the floor. Her bed was the same, however; the only thing in the room unchanged, the only bit of color. Spike often sat in her window on those nights of detachment and would look back on last summer when he would hold her in that bed, and let her cry with her face buried in his jacket until she fell asleep from exhaustion.

Taking another drag, Spike smiled sadly at the memories he had of her. Once upon a time, she had been all butterflies and kittens. Her clothing was childish and fit her awkward body with the too-long limbs. Then Buffy had gone, but Dawn was still his, still a child needing care. If possible, she had reverted into an even deeper child-like state of complete dependence and emotional attachment. But now the butterflies and kittens were long gone. Her childish clothing replaced by skin-bearing, cheap material that fell apart the first time you washed it. She'd grown into her too-long limbs, and her awkward, scrawny body had transformed into the form of a woman, curves, breasts and all. It all had happened too fast, with no one to notice except strangers and horny boys. The worst thing about it was that she was not his anymore. She wasn't his Nibblet, he couldn't hold her, he couldn't do anything for her now. The darkness that they had all let take over her was too thick to penetrate, and all he could do was watch from a distance.

Another breeze blew across the play yard, and Dawn's curls spun and twirled around her tear-stained face defying the shallow mood in an ironic sort of way. All of a sudden, he saw Dawn look up and whisper, "Spike?"

Spike closed his eyes, and took in an unnecessary breath. She knew that he was there, watching her from a distance. The pain of witnessing her destruction was too much for him to just stand around and view. No, he couldn't just watch her anymore. It was time to step out in the light. Releasing the breath, Spike put out his cigarette and walked out into the open area towards the swing set where Dawn sat.

She looked up at him, but said nothing. When Spike reached the sandbox, he paused for a moment, unsure of where to position himself. He then ignored the voice inside that screamed about his dignity, and sat in the swing next to her. After a moment of silence, he looked at her and asked, "How did you know I was there?" Dawn casually wiped away stray tears, obviously trying to do it in a manner that wouldn't attract his attention. "I smelled you." Spike frowned for a moment, and reached down and pulled the collar of his leather duster to his nose. "What do I smell like?" he asked, honestly curious. Dawn dragged her bare feet in the sand, and said quietly, "Cigarettes, leather, and sometimes cinnamon. I don't really know why cinnamon, you just do. At least to me." Spike chuckled. "I don't know where the cinnamon bit comes in either."

Silence filled every corner of the area. Not exactly awkward silence, just Dawn's indifference to everything around her. Spike fidgeted nervously, and pulled out another cigarette. As he was lighting it, Dawn looked over and held out her hand expectantly. Spike looked up and his eyes met hers for the first time in months. Her face begged him for a fix, but she didn't say a thing. Slowly, he handed over the cigarette he had just lit, and pulled out a new one for himself.

If I smile and don't believe  
Soon I know I'll wake from this dream

Spike watched her out of the corner of his eye. She let the cigarette hang on her lower lip while she tied her curls up at the nape of her neck. She then tucked her hair under the collar of the letter jacket. "What did you do that for?" He asked, curious.

"It makes my hair smell if I leave it down." She said matter of factly.

"You've done this before, then?" Spike asked, even though he knew the answer. Dawn turned to look at him and smirked, defiance dancing in her blue eyes. She put the cigarette back between her lips and took a deep lungful of smoke. As she exhaled, she moved her tongue to the front of her mouth and blew out little smoke rings. She didn't even bother to look at him as she took another drag. He knew that she was quite aware of his shock. It had taken him a while to learn how to do that, and Jesus...look how much smoke she is taking in.

"You're going to ash yourself." Dawn said, glancing over at his cigarette that he had forgotten he was holding. Sure enough, a chunk of embers fell from the end of it. Dawn reached out her hand and caught it in her palm. Holding it in front of her, she examined her hand as the burning ash melted her skin.

Don't try to fix me, I'm not broken  
Hello, I'm the lie living for you so you can hide

That was it for Spike. He'd seen enough. Getting off of his swing, he kneeled in front of her in the sand. Taking her hand, he blew the embers off and examined it. Spike scowled. After a minute, he looked up into her emotionless eyes. "Why did you do that?" He asked, trying to keep the rage out of his voice.

Dawn shrugged. "I just wanted to. I can barely even feel it anymore. And who are you to question what I do?" There it was. He'd been waiting for the resentment to show, and there it was.

He paused, still looking in her defiant eyes. "If I told you that I care about you, would you believe me?"

Dawn scoffed, and said, "I think you convince yourself that you care. Do you even know who I am, Spike? Do you know what I've done to myself, the things I've given up?" Her voice quieted to a whisper, but she didn't break her glare. "How much I've lost?"

Spike flinched involuntarily. Yes, he did know. He hadn't done a damned thing about it, either.

"Nibblet-"He began.

"Don't." Dawn said, anger flashing in her eyes.

"-Dawn," He started again, "How can I make you stop all of this?"

Dawn's face twisted in confusion. "Stop what, Spike?" So, perhaps that wasn't the best way of attacking the issue.

"Look...Dawn, you're speeding so far off the soddin' track that it's hard to keep up with you. I do know, Dawn. I know more than you bloody think I know." Dawn stood up, pulling her hand away from him as if he was burning her.

"Bullshit!" she screamed. "You know nothing, Spike. Don't talk to me like I'm a fucking child. Don't patronize me, and pretend to be involved because you lost that right when you abandoned me." She spun around quickly, but Spike was on his feet just as fast. He caught her by her collar and turned her around, pushing her against the wall of the outside bathrooms. Her breath caught in her throat, and he could feel her heart rate speed up.

"Sit. Down." Spike growled low in his throat. The defiance in her eyes was gone, fear replaced it. She had never seen him like this before. At her brief pause, he leaned his head in, and said into her ear, "Sit down, Dawn. We need to talk. You might hate me, but you're bloody well going to listen." She slid down the wall to sit in the grass with her knees against her chest. Her eyes never left his, and he knew he had startled her. At that point, he didn't care. He was too angry, not at her, but at the whole situation. He sat down in front of her. When he didn't say anything, she repeated her statement from earlier. "You just don't know, Spike."

"Yes, I do, Dawn. I know about the drinking, the smoking, the ecstasy-"Dawn's jaw dropped, "Yes, I know about that. And I am aware of how the boys stare at you, and how it makes you feel so dirty inside. And I know how much you feed off of that, of how you are doing things that are so wrong. You're addicted to the wrong kind of attention, Dawn. I know you go out and do what ever the hell you please; convincing yourself you're having a bloody hell of a time. Then you come home and cry yourself to sleep. Don't tell me that I don't know. I never abandoned you; I've been with you, just out of sight." Dawn's eye's filled with tears, but they didn't spill over her cheeks. She wrapped her jacket around her tight, and buried her face in her knees. Sobs racked her body, and her curls fell out in front of her face again.

Please, Don't cry

Spike's anger was ebbing away as he watched her crying. He crawled on his hands and knees until he was directly in front of her, and pushed her hair back from her face. She avoided his eyes, but just stared at the grass in front of Spike. Black eyeliner ran down her cheeks and down the hand Spike held to her face. "Dawn, do you remember last summer when you used to crawl into my lap and let me hold you?" Her forehead crinkled, and she sniffled.

"I'm not a child anymore, Spike." She whispered, as if she had lost everything. "Yes, you bloody well are. Nibblet, you fucked up. That doesn't mean you aren't still a child." Spike reached out and touched her shoulder, but she flinched away from him.

I'm too bloody impatient for this bullshit; the evil side of Spike thought bitterly. If she wants to act immature, let her.

The moral side of him, the part of him that loved Dawn, kept him still. The moment he looked away from her, he felt two arms wrap around his neck, and her face was buried in his shoulder. He said nothing, just snaked his arms around her and pulled her into his lap, cradling her.

Suddenly I know I´m not sleeping

After a few minutes she said, "I wish this whole thing was a nightmare. I wish I could make it all just go away. I didn't mean to be bad, and hurt myself. I know I did, I can't stop. It's my fault, but no one cared enough to fucking help me. That's all I was waiting for... and I know that's stupid Spike, but if no one cared then why should I?"

"I care," he whispered, kissing the place where her ear and hairline met. She pulled away to look into his eyes, searching his own. He could feel the heavy mistrust hidden behind the thick eye make-up. For a moment, her tears stopped, and her body's temor's halted, and she just sat, searching for any signs this was just a game. Her heart couldn't understand how he could care for her, nothing but the younger sister to the strongest woman in the world. "But you can't." She said, falling back into his arms.

"An' why not?" he asked, calmly. Dawn unintentionally clenched her fingers on the back of his jacket as she said as steadily as possible, "It feels like you only have room for one person. It used to be me, I was yours. My everything was yours. Then she came back, and I was the little sister again. I was nothing to you while you were still everything to me."

Spike was about to reply to her blunt statement when she leaned back in his lap and looked at him again, fresh tears making they're way down her cheeks. "Spike, you didn't even smell how much I wanted to die. Vampires are supposed to sense that above all else, besides blood and even that was all over me! If you care, how could you not know? I even dreamed about death and blood, that's all I've been for months now, but you were too busy chasing Buffy to..." She trailed off, not knowing how to accurately express her feelings.

Hello, I'm still here

All that's left of yesterday

Hello

Spike sat there, watching her and taking everything she had said in. Part of him wished he didn't have to be the strong one, and that he could break in front of her. Her glass heart had broken and the shards were cutting and slicing through his cold flesh; one, by one. "Oh, Dawn," He started. She looked away as he reached out to cup her cheek. "You knew he was a vampire, didn't you?" Dawn looked up, taken aback by his change of subject. "What?" she asked softly.

"The boy you were snogging tonight. You knew damn well what he was, did you not?" His tone wasn't accusatory, it was the tone one uses when confirming something they just realized to be true. An epiphany, if you will. The corner of Dawn's mouth curved up in a sad smile. "I'd known for a while. I'd been watching him and his friends. I know a vampire just as well as anyone else in the Scooby gang." She made a gag face at the annoying nickname for Buffy and her friends. When he didn't say anything, she went on. "I couldn't do..." She trailed off once again, not knowing exactly how to word it. Spike turned her face and made her look at him. "I'd been planning to die on Halloween for months. I couldn't do it myself, I've tried. I couldn't think of a better way than by a vampire."

Spike's eyes flashed a brilliant shade of yellow. Dawn pushed off him, a little frightened by his facial change. He looked up, with a slight growl. "Things are going to change, Dawn. Starting tonight."

"Wh-what?" She whispered, not sure if she wanted to hear his answer. "I'm leaving this sunny-hell," Dawn's face fell, and she turned away from him. She turned around when she felt his arms wrap around her waste.

"And you're coming with me."


	2. Dancing in place

Before I forget, the song in the first chapter is "Hello" by Evanescence

Joss and Mutant Enemy own everything except my plot line. Ta-da.

Spike's eyes flashed a brilliant shade of yellow. Dawn pushed off him, a little frightened by his facial change. He looked up, with a slight growl. "Things are going to change, Dawn. Starting tonight."

"Wh-what?" She whispered, not sure if she wanted to hear his answer. "I'm leaving this sunny-hell," Dawn's face fell, and she turned away from him. She turned around when she felt his arms wrap around her waste.

"And you're coming with me."

Spike had expected her to yell, to argue with him and throw around her now all too familiar curse words. He was taken aback when her tense body relaxed and she smiled.

"When?" she asked.

Spike looked at the moon and smelled the air, considering her question.

"Tomorrow, right at dusk. Go to school, come home, do the same routine the same way as you always do."

Dawn gave a sad little laugh, and said, "Not as though anyone would notice if I didn't. Should I meet you at your crypt?"

"...No. Meet me at the Magic Box after Anya closes down. That way if big sis sees you're missing, she won't find us at my crypt when she comes to call." He was quiet a moment, as Dawn became all too aware that he still had his arm around her waste. Her own hand was resting softly on his shoulder, the other covering his on her hip. She glanced up at him, smiling. At his questioning look she said, "Spike, we look like we're dancing."

Spike smiled back at her. "Dancing in place, that's all we ever do. It's all we've ever done Nibblet. We'll never bloody get anywhere staying here." Dawn sighed, nodding.

"Are we really leaving though? I mean away from Sunnydale, from all of this?" He could see the doubt veiled behind her blue eyes. Dawn wanted to believe this so badly, wished herself so far away from here that believing it was too difficult.

Spike grinned and swept low in a deep bow. "Dance with me, my lady?"

- - -

I know it was short, sorry. Keep reviewing! bri


	3. Put on your red shoes and dance the blue...

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (Grr, Argh) own all. Sorry this took so long.

That morning Dawn woke up with more gusto than she had in months. She brushed her teeth, her hair, washed her face and got dressed. As she decended the stairs, she saw Buffy in the kitchen drinking her coffee. Not a word was passed between them on the events of the previous night.

School was normal.

School was hell.

Her clock had to be wrong; time couldn't possibly be going by this slowly. The bell finally rang, she was out of there.

i for good, i/ she thought happily. She ran home, deposited her books in the closet and pulled out her duffle bag.

"Dawn Summers!" was written in frilly pink letters, and a pair of toe shoes decorated the childhood bag. She frowned as her fingers met with the familiar silk of her ballet slippers. Oh, how she wished she still danced. There was never enough money after Joyce died for lessons, so she had stored her gear away in the back recesses of her closet, they were too painful to look at.

As she reached to remove them from the bag, she paused and tucked them back in. She wanted to keep them, no matter what happened. They were i hers i/ .

She waited patiently for dark. Every inch of her itched to get out, to just bolt like a scared pony. She set her duffle on her window sill, and walked to Buffy's bedroom.

"Buffy, I just wanted to say goodnight and that I love y-" Buffy's room was empty.

She's patrolling.

Dawn sighed and moved back down the hall.

When she reached the grass under her bedroom she looked up. So many memories, both good and bad were born and will die in that house, she thought.

A gentle voice pulled her out of the reverie she had slipped into.

"C'mon Nibblet. We've got to get goin'."

She glanced up at him, stake raised in alarm. "Spike! I thought we were meeting at the Magic Box."

He motioned for her to follow him and lead her into the wooded area behind the Summer's home. "I ran into Buffy, and she was on her way there. Bloody lucky she didn't see me."

"Oh, that's where she is. I was going to go and say goodbye, but she wasn't in her bedroom." Her voice was distant, as though she didn't even care.

Spike stopped and knelt in front of her. "You listen to me, Bit. This isn't gonna be goodbye, Spike is just takin' you away for a little while. We are going to get you healthy again, this place will kill you."

"But I don't ever want to come back. All things good in this place are tainted and infected with blood and death, even my sister."

Spike studied her face and tone. He knew she wasn't being dramatic, or silently begging him to tell her otherwise. She was telling the truth, she really never did want to come back here.

He sighed and stood up, taking her duffle. They walked in silence for hours. She didn't ask where they were going, she wasn't even entirely sure that he knew. All that mattered was that she was leaving. She was going to find Dawn.

The literal meaning of that phrase became a problem for Spike. Their progress was halted when the threat of morning came upon them. Just as the sun broke through the trees, they took refuge in an old wooden barn, clearly abandoned in the middle of the woods.

Dawn paced, and twitched and cleared her throat repeatedly. Staying put was killing her. Now that she started her run, she never wanted to stop, never could get far enough away from the poison seeping from her home.

After a few hours of watching her restless behavior, Spike finally spoke up. "Nibblet, can you just… sit? Just sit down, for Christ sake, you are going to run a soddin' hole in the floor boards."

She turned to him, her desperation showing clearly on her face. "I'm so scared. I have this feeling wrenching in my guts that no matter how far or fast I run, Sunnydale will catch up to me. Something is after me, trying to drag me back and oh God, I can't calm down."

"Shh, Love." His arms were around her shaking body before she even knew he was standing. She leaned into him, breathing in the comforting smell of leather and tabacco.

"There's a girl. What usually makes you feel better, calms you down? For me, it's cigarettes, alcohol and sex. I hope your choices are healthier." He winked, and she smiled at him.

"I used to dance. It put me higher than any drug could, nothing could touch me when I was dancing." Her smile faded in remembrance.

"Were you any good?" Spike asked, interested.

"Actually, yes. It was pretty much the only thing I was really good at. I was way better than Buffy. She cheerleaded and all that shit, but that's repetitive jerky motions and gymnastics. I could move my body in ways she couldn't, I had a stronger core and better balance, and I flowed." She paused, "I miss it besides that. I loved it, it was mine. I was free of everything and everyone else."

She stopped talking when she noticed his smile. "What?" she questioned, suspicious.

"Nothin'. S'just good to see you passionate about something. But why all with the past tense?"

"Buffy needed me to quit after mom died. We couldn't afford it." She looked at her duffle bag unconciously.

"Well, I think you should dance for me." His voice was excited, persuaded, set.

"Now? Spike, I can't dance." She looked at him as though he was a crazy person.

He smirked, "Sure you can, Bit. You danced with me last night."

"But that was different! We were playing." He was having none of her protests.

"Fine then. Dance with me, but put on your shoes. I know you have them, I felt the wood through the bag." She paused, sighed, and sat down next to her duffle bag.

She removed her powder blue toe shoes and foot wraps. When her feet were wrapped in the gauze, she slipped on her shoes and felt the familiar tightness and uncomfortableness. Dawn stood up and flexed her legs, stretching all her muscles.

She felt him watching her, and said "Dancing is serious, Spike. If I danced before warming up I could get seriously injured. My feet will probably bleed after this, but I honestly don't care."

She reached behind her and pulled her left leg over her head, arching and stretching out her back. He didn't say a word, just watched her in wonder. He had never seen her so serious about anything, so completely in love with any aspect of her life.

"I know this is going to make me sound like a ponce, but I feel special to be able to see this side of you, Bit."

Dawn smiled at him as she put her leg back down. She walked over to him, and he bowed humorously. "My dear lady?"

She took his offered hand with a giggled, "Kind sir!"

Spike led her in a fast waltz, where there was no direction, nor pattern, nor grace whatsoever. His pride was screaming, but her laughter kept him going. She collided against his chest when he made a sudden misguided movement, and he joined in her laughter.

"Jesus!" she cried, "slow down or I am going to either break my ankle or impale your foot!" Her eyes were lit up, and she couldn't keep the fun from her face.

"Pardon my rudeness, my dear. I seem to have lost control of myself in your splendid presence. Will you join me as I slow the mood down to a slow dance?" His old English drawl was emphasized, and his eyebrows waggled dangerously.

She laughed and bantered, "At least pick a direction!" Her hand slipped back into his, and his arms wrapped around her waste.

"You flatter me, Love." He whispered in her ear, cockney accent back in full swing. Dawn stood on the wood of her toe shoes and moved with his body guiding her. Her left hand unconciously played with the collar of his duster, and she leaned into the smell of him.

Comfort, finally. There was no music, no beat or rhythm, only Spike using dancing as an excuse to hold her close and give her strength. She needed it, too. To be held put her back in the childish mindset where all that mattered was feeling special in the eyes of her father. Spike wasn't even close to her dad. In fact, he had been the only person to never leave or walk out on Dawn, which was a far cry from Hank Summers.

Suddenly she pushed off from his chest and for the first time, danced. Her body was taken over, and her mind had slipped into a place of calm and comfort. Her legs bent, and her back arched with the flow of her body. She carried out moves she hadn't even remembered, but her muscles and heart recalled each fluid movement.

Spike sat down against the barn wall and watched her dance and cry to the music in her head. She danced for what seemed like hours until he finally made her stop.

Dawn complied, frowning as she removed her toe shoes. He looked over and grimaced at the blood seeping through the gauze bandages. She looked up at him with brimming eyes and whispered, "It was worth it. Thanks."

He grinned and pulled her close to lay on his shoulder. "Goodnight, Love."


	4. Ink, Cocaine, Blood and Tears

The daylight just didn't suit her. Waking up with dried tears on her eyelids in the arms of a vampire fit her much better.

Dawn's namesake burned into her eyes as she slipped out the old barn door, letting it hang behind her. When it made an unpleasant squeak, she turned to peer back into the room. Spike was propped up against the back wall, sound asleep.

She sighed.

/Dear, Dear Diary, I want to tell my secrets

'Cause you're the only one that I know will keep them/

She walked around to the other side of the barn where it cast a large shadow for her to sit in, away from the blinding light of the sun. Her hands were shaking violently. God, I need to get high, she thought. She slid down the wall to sit with her knees pressed to her chest, the fetal position she always acquired when the world got too big for her.

/and this is what I've done/

Dawn pulled out her diary from her jacket and set it in her lap. As she did this, her sleeve rode up and rubbed painfully against semi-fresh cuts on the inside of her arm. She grimaced as a scab opened and a drop of blood fell to the clean page in front of her.

"So much for starting fresh," she said with a bitter smile. Irony just wouldn't stop knocking at her door.

/I've been a bad, bad girl for so long

I don't know how to change what went wrong/

She ran her shaking hands through her tangled dark hair. She took a strand between her fingers and examined it with a disgusted laugh. She had her father's hair.

/Daddy's little girl? Well, he went away/

She rested her head back against the barn, as if listening for any sign of Spike on the other side. She heard nothing and picked her diary back up to start writing over the dried blood.

Dear Diary,

I never expected to be writing in here again. To think, my well-hatched plan went awry. Who'd have thought? I'm in some random barn in the middle of the woods. It reminds me of the campgrounds Hank took Buffy and I the weekend before he ditched out on us.

Anyway, to cut to the chase- Spike knows pretty much everything that's been happening. I thought he didn't give two shits about the kid-Summers. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or threatened. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little, or a lot, of both.

Yesterday I was so excited to get out of Sunnydale, but now... Jesus, my veins ache. I'm so empty; I have to get on something soon. It feels like it itches underneath my skin, I want to run and run and snort and huff...

Spike is on a trip of his own, a "Let's rescue Dawn' vibe. I still don't know if I buy it. It'll be short lived; I'm sure, just like all of his other ideas. He'll figure I'm a lost cause. He'll leave.

/What did that teach me? That love leaves, yeah/

Her blood continued its slow and steady drip onto the paper and she wasted no time in stopping to wipe it up. Instead, her pen danced among the small puddles, dragging it along with each word she wrote. She was shaking uncontrollably now, tears streaming down her face to mix with the ink and blood on the chronicles of her life.

/I've been down every road you could go

I made some bad choices as you know/

Dawn closed her diary mid sentence, and exhaled deeply. This was too hard, it was too much. Her anxiety was boiling in her arteries and she felt bloated with pain and nerves. Everything was spinning, and she knew she was having an anxiety attack. She had them often enough, but was never too far away from an easy fix to either calm her down or knock her out cold. Her hands clenched and she looked down at her wrist.

I might as well.

/Seems I have the whole world cradled in my hands

It's just like me not to understand/

Dawn reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew a neck chain with a pendant in the shape of a cross. She unscrewed the top of the charm and peeked inside to see white power. Her body was wracked with shakes at the mere sight of the familiar shape and feel of it in her hands. This was the right choice she knew now, this felt so right, so much better.

/Dear, Dear Diary, I want to tell my secrets

'Cause you're the only one that I know will keep them.

I've been a bad, bad girl/

With shaking hands, Dawn leaned over her diary and poured a line onto the cover. She snorted the cocaine in two long hits and screwed the cap back on her cross, tucking it around her neck and letting it rest near her heart.

She pulled herself back into the fetal position, letting her diary fall off her lap again and it opened to the page she had last used. Her heart began to race and she had the sudden urge to laugh. She felt so high, so elated- her scabs were a prison, they were holding her back. She began to scratch vigorously at the new scabs on her wrist, itching and bothering them until they were even deeper than they were when first inflicted. She smiled sadly. Why not bleed freely? She wanted to be open, to let the world taste her for all she was. Broken, bloody, high, lost, scared.

She heard the barn door creak shut and she looked up to see Spike dodge around to the shaded side of the barn.

"Dawn, I smelled blood and-" He dropped the blanket when he saw her.

She smiled vaguely as her eyelids fluttered closed. Her grip on her knees slackened.

Spike glanced down to her open diary and knelt to pick it up. He read her bloody words and an angry fist twisted his intestines as his stomach dropped with each doubt she had been filling her mind with about him.

Why hadn't he watched her better?

"I'm a junky, baby." Dawn said, laughing through her tears. "I'm a junky like Major Tom."

/I learned my lessons young

I'll turn myself around/

Spike knelt before her and made her look up at him. Her eyes were unfocused and he blanched. He knew this all too well. "Oh, Dawn," he said, pulling a thumb across her lower lip, where tears had gathered. "You're worth so much bloody more than this."

/I've got a guardian angel tattooed on my shoulder

He's been watching over me/

"We're away from Sunnydale, but you still can't stop playing fantasy games. No one is worth more than this Spike." Dawn dabbed a finger in her blood and rubbed it across his bottom lip, a sick mimic of his innocent actions. Her smile disappeared, and her voice was mocking. "We kill or get killed, we get high or we suffer without a vice. We kill ourselves little bit by little bit each day before someone does it for us. It's the way it is."

He was deeply shaken by this. There was far too much truth in her convoluted words.

"You're right," he said.

"It's just routine, ink, cocaine, blood and tears."

/I've been a bad, bad girl/


	5. Demon

Author Note: I'm sorry it's been so long. I thought I would abandon writing my fanfictions, but I have gotten too much of a positive response to quit. I started most of these when I was about 14, and I'm 18 now. It was your positive reviews that made me want to persue this, thank you. I have no real direction with this story. It's not going to be easy or pretty. Dawn is a perfect reflection of the average young girl in highschool; trust me, I just graduated from one seeping with little girls like this. I'm not being overdramatic. If you have ideas, let me know.

IF YOU KNOW OF ANYWHERE ELSE I CAN POST THESE STORIES/THIS STORY, OR IF YOU WANT THEM ON YOUR SITE, LET ME KNOW! thanks!

Everything is Joss's and Mutant Enemy's.

--------- ------ -----

"I'm a junky, baby." Dawn said, laughing through her tears. "I'm a junky like Major Tom."

/I learned my lessons young

I'll turn myself around/

Spike knelt before her and made her look up at him. Her eyes were unfocused and he blanched. He knew this all too well. "Oh, Dawn," he said, pulling a thumb across her lower lip, where tears had gathered. "You're worth so much bloody more than this."

/I've got a guardian angel tattooed on my shoulder

He's been watching over me/

"We're away from Sunnydale, but you still can't stop playing fantasy games. No one is worth more than this, Spike." Dawn dabbed a finger in her blood and rubbed it across his bottom lip, a sick mimic of his innocent actions. Her smile disappeared, and her voice was mocking. "We kill or get killed, we get high or we suffer without a vice. We kill ourselves little bit by little bit each day before someone does it for us. It's the way it is."

He was deeply shaken by this. There was far too much truth in her convoluted words.

"You're right," he said.

"It's just routine: ink, cocaine, blood and tears."

/I've been a bad, bad girl/

-Chapter 5-

Silence filled the clearing. No birds were chirping, and no wind was rustling the leaves of nearby trees. The only sign of life was the vibrant scarlet of Dawn's bleeding wrist.

Dawn got up shakily, her eyes now darting across the landscape ahead of her. Without a word, she walked past Spike and back through the barn door. Spike followed her wordlessly as she slid down the interior barn wall. She was holding herself as if she were expecting a blow to the ribs, but she couldn't keep the self-satisfied smile from her face. Her little speech outside had somehow strengthened her will to self destruct. She was right, and he had admitted it.

For the first time since her encounter with Spike two nights prior, she admitted to herself that she saw no hope in her future. She had told herself along with Spike that she was optimistic about starting her life over. He didn't realize that the only thing she wanted to start over was where she called home. She hadn't even realized this until now. As much as Dawn felt abandonded and discarded by Spike, she was using him. He was just yet another way out, an escape, much like her drugs. She had absolutely no intention of quitting drugs and her reckless lifestyle. It was all that was keeping her alive these days.

Dawn fidgetted where she sat. Her body was convulsing from a combination of cocaine and the rush of having her blood spilling in riverlet patterns down her arm. She raised her hand and caught a drop of blood that had been traveling towards her elbow. Spike moved silently next to her, taking her arm gently in his freezing cold hands. He looked at her, expecting to see her flinch at the sudden coldness, but she just stared at his movements, glassy eyed and determined. Spike reached over next to him, retrieving Dawn's already bloody bandages from her bag. He set out to wrap her wrist, but stopped as she spoke.

"Where is your demon, Spike?" She said, low and deep in her throat. "What?" He asked, pulling away a little warily. Dawn smiled sadly, still staring blankly at his cold hands. When she didn't respond, he asked her again. "What? My demon?" "Your demon, Spike." She said, confidantly. Her eyes finally traveled up his torso to look boldly in his crystal eyes. He shifted away slightly. He had never seen this look in Dawn's eyes. He couldn't quite place it, but he knew that it made him feel very uncomfortable. Where her eyes were once glassy and blank, they were now intense and set upon his own. There was a richness there that had never been there before, a depth in her expression that shook him to the core. Her bottom lip hung slightly open, one corner peaked in a sadistic smile. A woman's smile.

He stared, waiting anxiously for her to continue.

"Don't pretend that you haven't noticed my increased heart rate, the way the coke is making the blood pump-" She scooted closer to him, "-in my temple, in my neck-" she titled her head to one side, letting her hair fall away to reveal her slender neck, "-and through my veins." He glanced down quickly at her bleeding arm, and then back to Dawn's face.

"I do not like where this is going." Spike stated clearly, although yellow flickered in his eyes for a moment before being replaced again by blue. He hoped she hadn't seen, but her woman's smile had turned into a sneer.

"There it is." She whispered proudly. "Your demon." He glared at her hard, refusing to respond. Instead, he went back about wrapping her wrist in the bandages. "You're bloody cracked out," he muttered, "don't even talk to me until you can act like an adult, Dawn. You are still a child." He put extra emphasis on the word 'child', taking special care to overpronounce the consanents. He was aware that she would not take kindly to this statement, but simply wanted to distract her from the path she was heading down.

To his dismay, her eyes rolled back in her head as she laughed. It was a strained laugh, desperate and sad. "But Spike, I am not a child. I am sixteen, puberty has run it's course. The stares that adult men-" She put the same emphasis on the word 'adult' as Spike had put on 'child,' "convey anything but an innocent admiration for my childish youth. You don't think I feel the blood pounding through their veins? It's enough to get the blood pounding in mine." She made a sideways glance at the newly bandaged wrist that was still in his hands. "And here I am, ripped open and bleeding, and I know you can smell my blood doing just that, pounding, pulsing..."

His eyes flashed yellow again, but the gold lingered a breath longer than before. Spike felt the two sides of him engage in a battle within himself. He loved her, he couldn't let her seduce him into treating her otherwise. She was his golden girl, still a child despite her curves. A child, but God, the way her lips were moving...

"I don't know who you think you are playing here, Nibblet." He said, gripping her injured hand tightly in his own. She gasped in pain and surprise, but quickly regained her composure. "Don't pretend like it doesn't excite you, Spike. I've heard your stories. You used to tell them to me when I was a little girl, remember? I know about your past. You call me a child, and yet I have to ask you, just how many young girls have you tasted?" She cocked her head to the side once more, re-exposing her neck. "Tasted, in more ways than one? Doesn't it get you off that I am so desperate for death? I can feel the monster inside of you struggling to not cut the last thread I am hanging on by. I can sense you fighting the urge to take whatever is left of my innosence. To taste it on your tongue, to have it pool down the back of your throat. To feel this euphoric sensation that I am feeling, and more."

Spike felt as though his heart had dropped somewhere around his stomach region, then had shot back up to conveniently take up residence in his throat. She called this bubbling thing inside of him a monster, but he couldn't help but wonder who exactly the moster was. He barely recognized this girl, and yet with every word she let slip past her lips, he found himself becoming increasingly unsettled. Unsettled in very bad ways. The desire she brought forth in him terrified him and aroused him. His past was knocking at his door in the shape of a beautiful young girl who had no idea and every idea of what she was asking for.

His eyes shifted to gold, and this time, they did not shift back. 


End file.
